For the second time, she blinked open her eyes to see the sun. The sun in the land of the living, from whence Pony believed she had departed forevermore. She was in a cabin in a ship—on Saudi Jacintha, she remembered—wrapped tightly in warm blankets and near to the cabin’s one window.
“Welcome back, lass,” said Andacanavar, kneeling by the side of her bed, which still made him tower over the prone woman. “We thought you’d left us. Praise to Bradwarden for understanding the gemstones and leaping in to your rescue.”
The words rattled around in Pony’s head for a bit, conjuring images of those terrible and desperate moments out on the deck. Bradwarden! She had tapped his life force with the soul stone! She had reached out and taken his energy as her own!
Panicked, Pony tried to sit up but the pain, and Andacanavar’s strong arm, held her down. “Rest easy, my friend,” the ranger said softly. “We’ve two more days to Vanguard, and you will need all of that time and more to stand strong once again.”
“Bradwarden?” Pony gasped breathlessly. “Where is Bradwarden?”
“Out on the deck, resting comfortably,” Andacanavar replied. “He is exhausted from his ordeal in battling your wounds with you—exhausted but well on the mend.”
“I took too much!” Pony insisted. “Speak truly to me, for I know that he could not have survived the leaching of the soul stone!”
Andacanavar gave a small laugh. “You took much indeed,” he agreed. “And we all thought we had lost the centaur—and nearly lost Captain Al’u’met when Bradwarden toppled over toward him! But the hardy Bradwarden rebounded well, I tell you in all honesty.”
Pony shook her head; it didn’t make sense. “Too much,” she argued.
“He mentioned something about an armband,” Andacanavar explained. “A red armband.”
That settled Pony back, her thoughts whirling and all of the questions popping into them leading her in a positive direction. She had forgotten the enchantment of that armband! The elves had given it to Elbryan, and on a human, its healing magic had worked well. But on the centaur, the powers had somehow extended beyond anything Pony had ever known. When Mount Aida had collapsed during the defeat of the demon dactyl, a large section of the mountain had crushed Bradwarden and should have killed him. But that enchanted armband had not allowed the centaur’s life force to flee his corporeal form: it had kept him alive, on the very precipice of death, for weeks and months.
And now it had saved him again, and had saved Pony, as well.
“Tell me of the raid,” said Pony. “How great the gain, and how great the losses?”
“A success by any measure,” Andacanavar told her. “Eight great warships accompany our fleet now, and King Aydrian’s expeditionary force is stranded on Pireth Dancard. The mainland is a long swim.”
Pony shared in his laughter, as much as her aching side allowed. “We must not rest on this one victory,” she said in all seriousness. “Aydrian will move quickly to even the score, and to the support of Pireth Dancard.”
“With the additional ships, Prince Midalis can load a significant force aboard and invade that island fortress.”
“Better not to fight them in defended holes, I think.”
The ranger gave a shrug. “Planning for another day. We will make Vanguard soon enough, and there decide our next course of action.”
“Our?”
Another shrug. “Bruinhelde holds great respect and admiration for Prince Midalis,” the ranger explained. “They are brothers by deed, if not by blood, and have shared much. If Bruinhelde believes that Honce-the-Bear is better served by Midalis than by Aydrian, if he comes to believe that Alpinador will be threatened should Aydrian defeat the rightful king, then he will likely march with Prince Midalis.”
“And will that be your advisement to him?”
“We will see,” the ranger replied, lowering his voice and putting a finger over Pony’s mouth to prevent her from continuing. “Rest, my friend. We’ve a long road ahead.”
Saudi Jacintha caught up to the rest of the fleet and led the way into Pireth Vanguard on the front winds of a budding winter storm. Barely had the ships been safely sheltered and moored, with the Alpinadorans pulling their longboats right out of the water, before terrific winds and great swells battered the coastline of Vanguard, sweeping through the Gulf of Corona and out into the deeper Mirianic.
Still, the season was getting late, with spring fast approaching, and the prince’s charges believed that it would not be long before the trails to Caer Tinella were clear of snow and the gulf became reliably navigable once more. And so the planning began in full, as both Pony and Bradwarden recovered from their wounds. They planned for the defense of Vanguard, should it come to that, and for the offensive they hoped to launch against King Aydrian.
The mood of Pireth Vanguard was not hopeful, however, despite their determination and the great victory they had won at Pireth Dancard. For they knew, from reports and from common sense, that Aydrian was making great gains in the southland. He had even scattered the Touel’alfar, and that was no small feat! Prince Midalis knew that he must fight, but he and all of those around him understood the desperation of that prospect.
Five days after their return to Pireth Vanguard, the darkness of the mood only deepened, for Belli’mar Juraviel arrived with news gathered by his many scouts of the happenings in the southland of Honce-the-Bear, of Duke Kalas’ march and swelling ranks, of Aydrian’s departure from Palmaris at the head of a second army, of the fall of St. Gwendolyn and the execution of Abbot Glendenhook.
But Juraviel also brought with him other news, from the lands south of the Belt-and-Buckle, of the second resistance building against King Aydrian’s encroachment into Behren. And, more hopeful still, of potential erosion within Aydrian’s own ranks.
Namely, Duke Bretherford. Pony knew Bretherford; he had accompanied King Danube to Palmaris during his courting of Pony for those years, and had been the one to sail her back to Ursal upon River Palace when she had returned to Danube’s side after their short separation. Bretherford had not been a supporter of her marriage to Danube, but he had been truthful with Pony throughout their relationship, and had never personally attacked her. More than anything else, Pony had understood Duke Bretherford to be a loyal friend of her husband the king.
“What do you think Duke Bretherford will do if Brynn breaks out of Dharyan-Dharielle and takes her army against Abbot Olin in Jacintha?” Pony asked at the meeting, after Juraviel had told her and the gathered leaders of Yatol De Hamman’s siege of Dharyan-Dharielle and Brynn’s plans to break it.
“He’ll fight for Abbot Olin,” Prince Midalis answered before Juraviel could, and the elf seemed in complete agreement. “Duke Bretherford will side with Honce-the-Bear against either Behren or To-gai, whatever his feelings for the present king.”
Pony looked at all of those gathered, her expression turning sly. “Unless we give him a reason not to,” she remarked.
“What’re ye thinking, lass?” Bradwarden asked.
“Would Duke Bretherford be so willing to support Abbot Olin if Prince Midalis joined Brynn in that fight against Abbot Olin?” Pony replied.
“Are you suggesting that we load up our newly acquired warships and sail all the way to Jacintha?” asked an obviously surprised Prince Midalis.
“It is a risk,” she admitted. “But what do you think the effect upon Aydrian would be if we arrived in Jacintha at the same time as Brynn Dharielle, squeezing Abbot Olin and all of his warriors in a great vise? And what might Aydrian think—and more importantly, what might the other nobles of Honce-the-Bear think—if Duke Bretherford came to side with Prince Midalis?”
“It would be a great victory,” Midalis admitted. “Greater than Pireth Dancard by far.”
“But is it worth the risk of sailing so far and so fast?” Liam put in. “We’ve hardly put the winter behind us, after all.”
Everyone turned to Prince Midalis for a verdict on that remark, and the man sat b
ack in his chair and closed his eyes for a long, long time.
“If we stay here and wait for Aydrian, we might give him a difficult fight, especially if Bruinhelde and his warriors support us, as I know they shall,” the prince began. “But in the end, though we might beat Aydrian back, or stay hidden away enough so that he comes to believe that Vanguard is not worth his trouble, we will hardly be able to counterstrike forcibly.
“If we sail out or march out to take the battle to southern Honce-the-Bear, as I know I must, the odds are far from favorable,” Midalis went on. “We would need to have people, including many soldiers and even Allheart Knights, come over to our side in great numbers to have any chance of standing against the army Duke Kalas has apparently assembled. With those realities put before us, and given our friend Juraviel’s information, is an attempt to enlist the support of Duke Bretherford such a far-fetched and risky proposition?”
“We have to pull at the loose ends of this tapestry Aydrian is weaving to blanket the land,” Pony reminded, and she gave a little shrug and a wink as she finished, “Besides, I have always wanted to see Jacintha.”
“If we find negotiation with Duke Bretherford and turn him to our side, or even if we just join in the battle and assure that Abbot Olin and Duke Bretherford are defeated in Jacintha, our gain will be great,” Juraviel insisted. “If Duke Bretherford comes over or his fleet is sunk, then you will control the seas, Prince Midalis, and it will be much harder for Aydrian to know your location.”
“In that case, he could just march for Vanguard,” the prince warned.
“And you could debark your seaborne forces behind him, anywhere along Honce-the-Bear’s long coastline, and begin eroding his base of support and supply,” the elf countered.
“We become more elusive if we gain uncontested control of the seas,” Pony agreed.
Prince Midalis looked at her, silently pleading with her, she knew. She had gained his trust long ago, on Mount Aida, and he needed to trust in her again. She offered him a warm smile and a determined nod.
“To the Mirianic we go,” Prince Midalis announced. “Tell Captain Al’u’met to organize the sail.”
Soon after, Pony accompanied Midalis to the tent of Bruinhelde in the Alpinadoran encampment northeast of Pireth Vanguard. The two were surprised indeed—and so was Andacanavar, who was also in attendance—when the Alpinadoran chieftain announced that he would accompany the prince on his southern sail, with many warships and the hopes of a great victory.
“You have sown the seeds of trust and friendship,” Pony said to the prince, as they rode back toward Pireth Vanguard later that day.
“A crop more fruitful than I ever imagined,” said Midalis.
“Because you sowed them honestly, and without any ulterior design,” said Pony. “Bruinhelde knows that you came to him in sincere friendship for the benefit of both your peoples. When he followed you to Mount Aida, he found that his acceptance of your offers of friendship in the time of the dactyl were well-founded. And so he is willing to stand beside you.”
“All the way to Behren,” Midalis said with a helpless laugh.
“All the way to Behren,” Pony echoed.
Chapter 36
Counter Winds Blowing
“LITTLE DID WE REALIZE HOW FAST AND GREAT OUR RISE WOULD BE WHEN LAST we passed this city’s gates,” Aydrian said triumphantly to De’Unnero and Sadye as they and Duke Kalas rode beside him into the city of Entel. The ride across Honce-the-Bear had been easy and most gratifying, with crowds lining every way to cheer for the new king. What a testament to Duke Kalas’ influence and strength, Aydrian had realized, for the man had securely locked up the entirety of the southern kingdom in Aydrian’s name, with but two notable exceptions: Pireth Tulme to the north, upon which Duke Kalas’ armies were even then descending, and St.-Mere-Abelle, to the north and west.
The side trip to Entel had been Kalas’ idea, mostly to check on Abbot Olin’s progress in the south and to ensure that this great city, more populated than Palmaris, even, remained firmly under control during Abbot Olin’s absence. The Abellican Church had always been strong here, but strong in two separate factions. St. Bondabruce, the great abbey, had long held firm under Abbot Olin and his preoccupation with Behren, while the smaller and older abbey, St. Rontlemore, had stayed more a friend to the line of Ursal and the Abellican Church proper, more closely tied to St.-Mere-Abelle.
Duke Kalas had feared that St. Rontlemore might be using Olin’s absence to gain a stronger foothold in Entel, but if that was in any way the case, then the welcome for King Aydrian did not show it! Thousands turned out, the whole city it seemed, waving red kerchiefs, as had become the custom for greeting the young king, and all the state flags flying over the main houses of power, the lords’ mansions, St. Bondabruce, and St. Rontlemore, were the newer version, the bear and tiger rampant, facing off over the evergreen symbol of the Church.
“St. Rontlemore has shown great wisdom in this,” De’Unnero remarked when he noted that banner over the ancient abbey.
“Because Duke Kalas has so completely cut them off from St.-Mere-Abelle,” Aydrian replied. “Their mother abbey has deserted them, as far as they can tell.”
“I do not trust in their loyalty,” Duke Kalas admitted. “The brothers of St. Rontlemore might be pragmatic more than wise, and if that is so, they likely hold the old flag of the Ursal line ready to hoist should the situation change.”
“We need not worry over that once St.-Mere-Abelle has fallen,” Aydrian remarked, and he looked to De’Unnero, who nodded his agreement and couldn’t hide just a bit of a grin.
“I have long sent word to Duke Bretherford in the south,” Duke Kalas said. “I expect that Abbot Olin will be here to greet us, or that he will soon arrive.”
“Not soon enough, if he is not already here,” said De’Unnero. “We have left a dangerous foe behind us in St.-Mere-Abelle, and with spring fast warming the winter trails, Prince Midalis might not be far behind.”
“Palmaris is well defended, as is Ursal,” Duke Kalas strongly replied, as if he had taken the words as an affront.
“Nothing would please me more than to hear that Midalis and St.-Mere-Abelle were both now attacking Palmaris,” said Aydrian. “Let them play their hands.”
“Midalis will not be without support, wherever he arrives,” warned De’Unnero.
“Wherever that may be, I will crush him,” Aydrian assured the man. Aydrian didn’t miss Duke Kalas’ slight grimace at that remark; he understood the duke’s reluctance. Prince Midalis had been his friend for a long time, after all, and the brother of the man who had been Kalas’ dearest companion for many years. But it did not matter, Aydrian knew. Duke Kalas would not flee his side when Midalis arrived.
“And the sooner we are rid of him, the sooner I can secure the kingdom in total and turn my attention toward helping Abbot Olin finish off the Behrenese,” Aydrian went on. “Then where, I wonder? To To-gai in the far southwest? To the cold lands of Alpinador?”
He stopped as they pulled their horses up in front of the great iron gates of the fence surrounding St. Bondabruce. They were warmly welcomed by a host of eager brothers and led into the main audience chamber of Abbot Olin. It was a vast and airy space, not as cavernous as the audience halls of Castle Ursal perhaps, but actually more so than the tighter quarters of St.-Mere-Abelle, with its huddled architecture keeping it warm from the cold Mirianic winds. St.-Mere-Abelle was many times the size of St. Bondabruce, and held more than ten times the number of brothers. The treasures of the mother abbey were priceless, with gold-trimmed tapestries and ornamental chalices and artifacts from every age of the Abellican Church, and many more that even predated the old religion! In terms of wealth, gemstone cache, library, and artworks, St. Bondabruce did not come close to comparing to St.-Mere-Abelle, nor did the Entel abbey have any of the more spectacular architectural items, like the ornate stained-glass window that looked out on All Saints Bay from the main keep in great St.-Mere-Abelle. But
with the more hospitable southern climate, St. Bondabruce did not need the low ceilings of its northern sister abbey, so the place was anchored by soaring minarets. The ceiling in this audience chamber was no less than fifty feet high, all painted in the bright colors and designs more typical of Behren than Honce-the-Bear.
The furnishings also showed great Behrenese influence, with rich, brightly colored fabrics and airy net weaves across the wide backs of chairs. Abbot Olin had done much to influence that, they all understood, and seeing the place again only reminded Aydrian of how fully he had put Olin out of the way by sending him to his favored haunts in the south.
“King Aydrian,” greeted an older, neatly trimmed man, moving out quickly from a side door in the audience hall. He rushed up before Aydrian, dipped a deep and polite bow, and motioned for the young king to take the abbot’s throne seat as his own.
“Greetings, Master Mackaront,” Aydrian replied, recognizing the man from their journeys to the southern waters, when De’Unnero and Aydrian had secured the services of the pirate, Maisha Darou, and his fleet. “Pray you go tell your Abbot Olin that we have arrived, and that time is of the essence.”
Mackaront shifted somewhat nervously, a movement that none of the four visitors missed. “Abbot Olin remains in Jacintha,” the man explained. “The situation there is quite fluid, and he feared that leaving now could be detrimental to our purposes.”
Aydrian studied the man carefully, then nodded and did sit down upon Olin’s own chair. “Quite fluid?”
Mackaront glanced around and cleared his throat. “I assure you, King Aydrian, that Behren is secured,” he began, trying to appear more confident than he sounded. “At least, the newer kingdom of Behren is now secure under the control of Yatol Mado Wadon, who is no more than the public voice of Abbot Olin. The tumult within Behren is as you believed, and Abbot Olin found his services required—at any price.”
“But …” Aydrian prompted, for the words of victory hardly matched the man’s nervous demeanor.
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 225
